Chapter 130 – Shadows on the Horizon
That night, after the official ceremony of his elevation as Viscount Eisenwald, Fenrir stood on the balcony of Luminaria's imperial palace. The night sky glittered with countless stars, mocking and dazzling in their serenity above the schemes of men. The air of the capital was unlike the marshes, forests, and fortresses he had grown used to—thick with incense, the glow of torches, and the ceaseless whispers of politics echoing through marble halls.
He had just returned from the grand banquet, where nobles offered their congratulations with hollow smiles and high-ranking officers studied him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Now everyone knew the name Fenrir Eisenwald, the Crimson Wolf who had, in a matter of years, crushed barons, seized six territories, and raised Eisenwald from a swamp into a formidable frontier power.
Yet Fenrir knew one truth: recognition from Emperor Aurelius Luminaria V was not the end, but the beginning of a harsher trial.
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Earlier that day, during the ceremony, Fenrir had noticed something far more important than the praises of nobles. Among the honored guests stood foreign envoys from outside Luminaria. Their banners unfurled with sharp clarity:
Red with a rising sun → the emblem of Vortexia Empire, the eastern power known for relentless expansion.
Blue with a winged dragon → the standard of Emberhold Empire, southern fire and steel, led by a charismatic, warlike ruler.
Green crowned with a great tree → the banner of Verdentia Empire, in the northwest, once defeated by Luminaria, now stirring again.
White with a golden cross → the crest of Radiant Vale Empire, a southwestern realm of faith and zeal, often hiding ambition behind holy words.
Only Luminaria glittered tonight with feasts and music. But the presence of the other empires' envoys was a reminder: the world was far larger than Eisenwald's borders, and far crueller than petty baronial wars.
Whispers drifted into Fenrir's ear throughout the hall:
> "In the east, Vortexia swallows minor border kingdoms…"
"In the south, Emberhold rallies armies under its new emperor, both an orator and a general…"
"In the northwest, Verdentia rekindles its honor, seeking vengeance for the shame of old defeat…"
"And Radiant Vale… their eyes never leave Luminaria."
Fenrir's gaze sharpened as he looked toward the horizon. Once, he had fought for survival in the swamp. Then he fought for dominance among barons. Now, the horizon showed him a new battlefield: the clash of empires.
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His hand gripped the hilt of his new sword—the Emperor's personal gift. Its blade gleamed crimson-black under moonlight, as though echoing his own epithet. This was not merely a symbol of power, but a reminder: Aurelius had granted recognition, but demanded proof.
Fenrir exhaled slowly. Memories rose unbidden: the swamp of Eisenwald, the fallen faces of his soldiers, and his father Celdric—now shrouded in deeper mystery after the Emperor's cryptic words.
"If the borders have bowed," he murmured, voice almost lost to the wind, "then the next world awaits."
In the distance, the midnight bell of the capital's tower tolled. In his heart, Fenrir knew: this was the close of one journey—and the opening of a war far greater than anything yet faced.
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